


Moment Alone, A

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-15
Updated: 2004-01-15
Packaged: 2019-05-30 16:56:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15101072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: How often do they have a moment alone?  Sometimes, you have to take the chances you are given.





	Moment Alone, A

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**A Moment Alone**

**by:** MAHC 

**Characters:** Abbey and Jed  
**Category:** Jed/Abbey, Romance  
**Rating:** ADULT  
**Spoilers:** "IITL"   
**Disclaimer:** I did not create any of these characters, but I love them.  
**Summary:** How often do they have a moment alone?  Sometimes, you have to take the chances you are given.  


She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the rich mix of sounds to surround her, envelope her.  The competing noises of laughter, conversation, clinking silverware and china, and Sinatra tunes played by a swing band vied for her concentration, but none of them won.  What took her in, what controlled her now was the intimate, warm touch of his hand in her hand, his lips against her ear, his chest brushing her chest.  When she opened her eyes again, he was looking at her, his own blue eyes twinkling at her blush.  He chose that moment to pull her a little closer so that their bodies pressed together, and she was instantly aware of his arousal.  The blush deepened and she stole a glance around at their guests, those nearest them on the dance floor and those mingling at the tables.  Could they tell? she wondered.  Could they see the electricity snapping between their First Couple tonight?  She yearned to be alone with him so that she could act on the impulses that surged through her.  But they were not alone.  There were in the middle of the East Room, along with about 200 other people, people who were watching them.

"Jed," she whispered in his ear.

"Hmm?"  He moved his body against hers with the mask of dancing.

She tried to concentrate.  "Jed, what are you doing?"

This time, he paused to look down at her.  "I’m dancing with my wife," he said, face wiped clean with innocence.

He looked so naïve, she was tempted to take a swat at him.  "Oh, you are an evil man," she said, and did tap his shoulder in substitution of the swat.

"Au contrair, bon ami," he returned, unconcerned with the bizarre phrase he had just created.  "It is you who are evil.  Seducing me like this in front of hundreds of people.  What kind of example are we setting for the rest of the country?"

"Bon ami?  What did you say?  ‘To the contrary, my abrasive cleanser’?"

"Well, I could have summoned my extensive command of Latin…but French is such a sexy language."

"It helps to get the words right."

"Nah.  Not really.  It’s just the sound.  Accuracy is secondary."

She just smiled and let him lead her once more around the floor, wondering what would happen when the music stopped and they had to part.  Just then, the last few strains of the song played out and the dancers clapped politely.  As several cleared the floor, he turned her quickly in his arms so that her back was to him.  Then, walking closely behind her, he guided her toward the door and they slipped into the hallway, unnoticed, or at least unfollowed.

"Smooth, Romeo," she noted, not without some genuine admiration.  

 At the middle of the building, he steered her left and out the South Portico, whispering something to the agent that stood by the door.  As the stone-faced man nodded solemnly, her husband offered his arm, which she took, and began strolling into the dimmer light of the West Colonnade toward the Rose Garden.  

Her suspicions aroused, she asked, "So, what are your intentions, sir?"  He leered at her and she laughed.  "You know, my father is here tonight.  I don’t think he’d approve of what you have in mind."

His eyebrows skewed in a fair imitation of Bela Lugosi, only confirming her earlier accusation of evil.  "I put C.J. in charge of keeping your father occupied," he said.

She looked shocked.  "Jed!"

"What?"  For a moment he looked truly puzzled, then he obviously grasped her assumption and laughed.  "Oh, Lord!  No, Abbey.  She’s just showing him around the West Wing.  I think Toby’s with them, too."  He laughed again and she really did swat him this time, hard on the shoulder.

"Ow.  What was that for?"

"I don’t know, but I’m sure you deserved it.  If not now, then you will at some future date."

He grinned.  "Probably true.  Now, _Doctor_ Bartlet," he began and her eyebrow rose.  They stopped halfway down the walkway, out of sight of anyone in the White House, itself.  He drew her off the cement and onto the moist soil of the garden, leaning her back against a white column, pale in the limited light, shaded by the line of small trees.  Surely, he didn’t intend to—

"Where was I?"

As his body pressed close, she felt her pulse quicken.  He had always excited her.  Even when they fought, she had trouble not reacting to his physical presence.  And they certainly weren’t fighting now.  He braced his left arm over her head and moved toward her, letting his lips touch her lightly, softly, with a teasing lick as he withdrew.  As he pulled back, his eyes caught her gaze and she drew a sharp breath at the depth of love she saw there.  

Unable to resist him, and not having any desire at all to do so, she slid her arms around his neck and pulled him hard against her.  The teasing arousal she had felt on the dance floor was now demanding, insistent between them.  Delicious anticipation drew a moan from her.  Her husband drew his arm from above her head and fingered the zipper between her shoulder blades.

"What are you doing?" she asked unnecessarily.

He nuzzled at her neck.  "What do you mean?"

She fought to keep her concentration as his lips moved to her ear.  "People can see us."

"No they can’t."  He nipped at the lobe gently.

"What if…what if they come outside?"

"Took care of that."  His head toss indicated the secret serviceman’s arm just visible around the corner at the end of the colonnade.  "We’re alone."

"Jed—" she tried a half-hearted protest once more, but lost all conviction when his lips touched her throat.  

"Shh."  He opened her gown enough to allow the bodice to gape.  His fingers caressed the curve of her breast gently, then dipped lower.  

"Jed…" she moaned again, but not in protest.

Sliding her hands from his neck, she pushed the dinner jacket from his shoulders, let her fingers run down his shirtfront, releasing the buttons and pushing across his chest.  They dropped lower and pressed against his groin, and he grunted when she squeezed him through the fabric of his tuxedo trousers.  Soon, she had his zipper opened and grasped his hard flesh unimpeded by clothing.  

"Oh, Abbey," he groaned, and she smiled as she felt him respond powerfully to her.

Somehow, he managed to pull away and she saw his jaw muscles working.  "Abbey, you’d better stop before we’ve gone too far to turn back."  His voice was hoarse and his expression belied the words, because he looked as if he’d rather do anything but stop.

"I think it’s too late for me," she breathed.  "Do you want to be the first President to do it in the Rose Garden?"

"How do you know I’d be the first?  I can name several Chief Executives quite capable of beating me to that particular distinction, going back to—"

"Shut up and kiss me, Jed."

"Okay."

And he did.  As his mouth met hers, and she felt her body begin to burn, she realized that this was the point of no return.  Fish or cut bait, as her dad was fond of saying.  On one hand, they were certainly not in the most private of places.  On the other, the secret service had apparently been charged by their Commander in Chief with guard duty for the evening.  She wondered if any of their constant companions in black were sneaking a peek at them.  Did they know they were about to witness their President and First Lady _en flagrant_ against a column in the Rose Garden?  His fingers danced lower and he hefted the gown so that he was between her legs.  He was definitely going fishing.  Suddenly, she didn’t care if the entire Treasury Department was watching.

His eyes widened.  "Dear God, Abbey.  Have you gone like this all night?"

She smiled and nodded.  She knew that would get him.  No underwear, only stockings and a garter belt.  The slight breeze cooled her skin where his lips left trails.  He drew one of her legs up and moved his hips into hers.  She bit her lip as she felt him push against her.  She wanted to grab him and thrust him deep inside, but she let him lead, let him set the pace.  Still, she reasoned vaguely, they didn’t really have the luxury of time.  

He paused, whispering in her ear, "Maybe we should just go back into the party…"

She growled at him and tugged at his hips, attempting to push onto him, but he held strong, poised just at her entrance.  Aching for him, she took the offensive, her fingers running up his ribs, her lips caressing his nipples, sucking at his neck.  His teasing smile disappeared.  She watched as the passion swept across his strong features and felt his hand grasp her buttocks.  In one firm motion, her buried himself inside her. 

She gasped, hanging onto him, her trembling limbs unable to support her weight alone.  She felt her inside muscles tighten as he withdrew, not wanting to give him up, not wanting to lose that fullness, but that lasted only a moment, because he pushed back in again, this time adding a rotation with his hips that made her groan.  He grasped her other leg, urging it up.  Bracing against the column, she wound both legs around him, drawing him even deeper.

"Ahhh," he breathed, then withdrew and said, not missing a beat, "You’ve always been flexible."

"Ballet lessons," she gasped as he pushed into her again.

He pulled out.  "I’m grateful to your ballet teacher."

Another thrust in.  "Gymnastics."  

Out.  "I’m grateful to your gymnastics coach."  In.

"Piano."  Out.

"I’m—Piano?"

She grabbed at his buttocks and pulled him back in.  "Nevermind."

His hips were flexing hard now.  She felt the muscles tense and relax under her calves.  His mouth was hot on her breast.

She forced her eyes open and watched him.  Her hands drew his head back up.  She wanted to see him in this most intimate of moments as he thrust in and out, wanted to look at his face, his wild hair, the bold vein that always stood out in his neck when his blood was pumping hard.  The black bow tie fell undone on either side of his collar, his shirt hung open, he had lost his boutonnière somewhere.  Sweat trickled from his brow and his breathing was unsteady.  She would have been concerned if she hadn’t known the cause. Instead, it sent desire surging through her, from her fingertips and toes to the center of her passion.  She had done this to him.  She had created this response, this urgent need.  She had made him this hard, this desperate, so that he forgot about the guests and the secret service and the very real possibility that they would be discovered.  The realization, along with his insistent lips and fingers, and the incredible friction that was building inside her, pushed her toward the edge.

"Jed, I’m—" She felt dizzy with the sweeping waves.  He was deep inside her as she convulsed around him, and she could tell that he would not last long now.  Just as her nerves reached the peak, she felt him tense, felt the pulses start at his base and push upward.  

He groaned her name, and she shuddered again as she felt him climax unevenly over and over.   Her senses focused on that one exquisite point where their bodies joined, feeling every swell and pulse, every grind and thrust, until he forced the last of himself into her with a sharp gasp and fell against her.  

"Abbey," he murmured, and his voice was so full of love that tears filled her eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them could move, neither wanted to.  She wondered vaguely if the agents watching had enjoyed the show.  Finally, he released his hold on her legs and she let them slide down his body, noting that he was still semi-erect.  An after-party celebration appeared certain.  As he reached to fasten his pants, she felt the lazy after-shudders between her thighs and smiled at him.  He grinned back, and she thought how rakish and rather boyish he looked with the hair falling over his forehead.  She liked him better that way: not so perfect.

"Well _done_ , Mister President," she said and he blushed a little.

"Ah, the First Lady deserves nothing less than the best," he replied, reaching out an arm to draw her to him again.

She leaned against him and reached up to brush his hair back.  "It _was_ the best," she whispered warmly.  "It always is."  He smiled back and lowered his head, his lips touching hers tenderly.

"There you are!"

Both of them turned, startled to see Dr. Thomas Barrington coming around the corner, C. J. Cregg on his arm.  Abbey knew she and Jed looked as if they had just…well, done exactly what they had, and felt the heat rush over her as she saw shocked comprehension register on the press secretary’s face.  

"Oh my God," C.J. whispered, then quickly lowered her eyes and made a strange sound in her throat.  Her father seemed oblivious, though, and moved toward them.  Abbey checked quickly to see that her bodice covered her.  Jed’s hand crept up her back and eased the zipper in place.

"I came to see if my little girl would favor her old man with a dance," her father invited.

She looked anxiously at Jed, but he was cool and collected.  It really irritated her that he could remain totally calm in such a situation.  "Go on," he assured her.  "I’ll be along in a minute."

As she took her father’s arm, she was for once grateful that his eyesight wasn’t as good as it used to be.  They headed back down the colonnade, but before they were out of hearing range, she heard a slightly recovered C.J. observe, "You missed a button, there, Mister President."

Glancing back, Abbey caught the flush of color on Jed’s face as he looked down at his tuxedo shirt and saw that only the single top button was still connected to its buttonhole, leaving his torso, from chest to stomach, completely bare.  At least his pants were zipped.  As she turned, she noticed his fingers quickly moving up to begin refastening.  C.J., her cheeks flaming, had left the President standing amid the roses and was now hurrying up behind them.  The flustered press secretary mumbled, "…sorry, I am so sorry…so sorry…" as she passed.  Abbey laughed, imagining the gossip this little bit of information would provide for the staff, and not caring a bit.  It was entirely worth the moment alone.  Truth be known, she was a little proud of it.

When they re-entered the East Room, her father, still quite spry for 78, showed her that he could hold his own on the dance floor.  Relaxed now, and a bit giddy, she grinned as her mind replayed the passion she and Jed had just shared.  Almost getting caught by her father reminded her of several close calls at her parents’ home many years ago.  Jed was just as eager and amorous now as he had been then, and she had always been amazed that they had avoided her parents’ suspicions.  She supposed her father still didn’t think of her in that way, as being someone’s lover.  Dads were just like that.  She had chuckled at Jed frequently over his refusal to acknowledge any possible sexual activity Zoey and Charlie might have entertained.  She smiled up at her father fondly.  

Dr. Barrington returned her smile and asked, "Are you having a good time tonight?"

She tried not to blush as she responded.  "Yes, I am.  How about you, Dad?"

"Oh, yes indeed.  That C.J. Cregg is something!"

For a moment, Abbey stared in uncertainty.  Then, she saw the amusement on his face and laughed.  "You’re just as bad as Jed."

They danced on for a few moments.  She tried not to be too obvious looking for her husband through the doors, but after a few neck twists in the middle of the dance floor, she could tell her father noticed.  

"He’ll be in in a minute," he assured her and she wondered briefly how much he had seen.  Still, she was not at all prepared when he leaned in and, with a twinkle in his eye, whispered, "Tell Josiah next time he can borrow the keys to my car.  It’s more private."  

She danced the rest of the song in stunned silence, unable to meet her father’s amused gaze.  At the end of the dance, she felt him move away and saw a familiar hand extend toward her.  As she took her husband’s arm, she saw that his tuxedo jacket, tie, and shirt were now back in place, and his hair was tamed somewhat, although it refused to be combed back as neatly as before.  He pulled her to him as the music began anew.  She smiled at the feel of his arms around her, his body close, already ready for her again, and a strange thrill raced through her as she wondered what everyone would think if they knew what had occurred between their President and First Lady just outside in the Rose Garden.

With trepidation, she told him about her father’s offer, but Jed just threw his head back and laughed.  The guests’ gazes fell on them and Abbey was grateful, if a little embarrassed, for the naked adoration she saw there.  As they danced, she watched the senior staff mingle skillfully through the crowd, and caught C.J.’s glance.  She fought back a blush as the younger woman lifted a champagne glass in salute, but saw understanding and admiration in her eyes.  Her gaze caught Sam and Josh, goofy grins on their faces as they watched their boss hold his wife.  What did they know?  Maybe nothing.  You couldn’t always tell with Sam and Josh.  Pulling Jed closer, she felt the hot flush on her face and smiled into his shoulder, holding on as he twirled her around the floor.  Even in the midst of hundreds of people, they could still find a moment alone.


End file.
